


Crisis

by shadowolfhunter



Category: Justified
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 01:37:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2210805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowolfhunter/pseuds/shadowolfhunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raylan's been missing for several days, no one seems concerned, except Tim. When Tim finds Raylan, he starts to realise his own feelings for the Harlan Cowboy are more complex than he had imagined. Can he help Raylan get past what happened to him, or will this be the final nail in the coffin of Raylan's life in Kentucky?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Out in the cold

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Civil Men](https://archiveofourown.org/works/388621) by [MissJeeves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissJeeves/pseuds/MissJeeves). 



> AU for the end of season four and parts of season five, although Raylan's relationship with Art is deteriorating.

Raylan’s been missing for four days now, Tim finds it a little unsettling that no one seems even vaguely concerned. Art’s view is that Raylan is up to something, but as long as he isn’t shooting anyone it’s not a problem. Rachel’s turning into a mini-Art these days so she’s holding the party line. Art is pissed with Raylan.

Tim’s disappointed in Rachel. After all, what has Raylan actually done to her?

No one else bothers, so Tim keeps his investigation private and very low key.

He is worried and, as irritating as Raylan is as a colleague, Tim is not about to abandon him. He’s not so rich in friends that he can afford to just throw them away.

The tip couldn’t have been more vague if it tried. Man’s voice said that Raylan was in a cabin somewhere in the interior of the backwoods miles from anywhere. Tim would dismiss it, but he’s got no other leads, and right now he just needs to get out of the office before anyone can trap him into talking about his feelings and/or Colton Rhodes.

***justified***

It’s hot and miserable by the time Tim finds the cabin. It’s tiny, barely a shack, Tim acts with caution as he looks around, but there’s nobody about to ambush him.

He pulls open the door, the cabin smells strange, like sweat and something unnatural and unpleasant, there’s a tiny entrance and a door to his left. Tim pulls it open.

Well, shit. His heart jumps into his throat, he’s found Raylan.

The cowboy is face down on the bed, sprawled out, limp and unresponsive, his wrists are cuffed and secured to the headboard, Tim’s eyes sweep the length of Raylan’s outstretched body, he’s covered in marks and bruises, head buried between his arms, he’s so still, Tim has to reach over and plant two fingers on Raylan’s neck.

He finds a pulse. “Ray-Ray…”

The dark head turns, but super slowly. Tim can see part of Raylan’s beautiful face, one dark eye staring at him with a mixture of disbelief and something that Tim barely recognizes as hope.

“Ti..m?” Raylan’s voice is a croak, as Tim fumbles the handcuff keys out of his pocket, releases Raylan’s bruised, swollen wrists. Very gently Tim pinches a little skin on Raylan’s arm, not surprised when the skin remains tented. Raylan’s in a really poor state, he needs an ambulance, and it’s not exactly a guessing game to know what has been done to the cowboy. Tim can see the imprint of hands on Raylan’s hips, the bruising is deep, Tim’s pretty certain Raylan’s been kept drugged too, there are a number of marks on his hip and thigh, circular bruises with little dots in the centre. Needle marks.

Tim’s sitting on the edge of the bed, Raylan has barely moved, Tim knows he needs to call Raylan an ambulance, but when he suggests this, suggests he move and leave Raylan’s side, the man finally moves himself. Slowly and sluggishly, but he wraps his hand around Tim’s wrist.

“No ambulance.” Raylan’s voice is croaky, but a little stronger, and Tim does not miss the flash of panic in his eyes.

Tim’s gonna be covering up a felony, he knows it, he knows that Raylan’s been raped and abused, and all of this should be reported, but the intense pain in Raylan’s dark eyes won’t be denied.

Tim knows how hard Raylan finds it to even show him that much. The man is locked away with his own thoughts, he internalizes his pain, never believing that there is someone who would help him take it all away. Never believing that anyone actually cares. Carrying his burdens alone because no one ever stepped up to help him. In that moment, Tim realizes that his attempt to break Raylan out of his shell using Wynn Duffy as a catalyst might have been something of a joke, but he knows now he was trying to reach out to Raylan.

Messing with the cowboy has always been fun, but Tim needs to man up now, because he can see in Raylan’s request not the stubborn man trying to go it alone, but the broken one who’s trying to reach out with trust in Tim.

Suddenly Tim feels very humbled by the faith that Raylan is showing in him. It’s not like he hasn’t had bad thoughts about the cowboy, and right now he’s sincerely sorry for it. However, it won’t matter if Tim can’t get Raylan out of this terrible place, get him home, mentally he starts planning how he’s going to work this, old friend at the VA should be able to help him, all the while he’s reaching for the haphazard pile of Raylan’s clothes he can see dumped beside the bed.

“Ray, can you sit up?”

Very slowly, and shakily, Raylan complies. Tim has to catch him a couple of times, and he tries to make sure that his contact with Raylan’s body is as brief and impersonal as possible, fighting down the strangest desire to just gather Raylan into his arms and let the cowboy sob out his pain on Tim’s shoulder. Knowing that the likelihood of that happening is close to zero, it seems to make no difference, Tim dares to care.

Raylan can barely move, so Tim dresses him, as much as he’s able. Keeping things light, warning Raylan if he’s going to touch him. Being gentle.

That’s definitely a new revelation in Tim-land. Being gentle with one’s annoying colleague.

Only right now Raylan’s not annoying. He’s broken and hurting, and wound as tight as a frickin’ top. Tim manages to get Raylan’s check button down on him, having abandoned the tee and wife beater as a bad idea, Raylan’s hands move to do up the buttons, and Tim watches those sure, strong fingers fumble.

The fumble should have been enough, but Tim catches a glimpse of Raylan’s expression as the cowboy looks down at his hands as though they betrayed him.

Very gently, Tim moves Raylan’s hands out of the way, and does up a couple of buttons. “Think you can stand for me, Ray-Ray?” He’s managed to get Raylan’s boxers and jeans on, all that needs to be done is to pull them up, and Tim is under no illusions how difficult that this is going to be. He tries to put his hands where they are least likely to brush Raylan’s ass. Raylan’s standing up in the circle of Tim’s arms, and Tim tries to make it nice.

Raylan flinches, it takes Tim a second to process that the flinch is physical, Tim’s come in contact with some of Raylan’s bruises, and the other injuries, some of which Tim can now see are bites. He slowly pulls Raylan’s pants over the cowboy’s hips.

Somehow Tim can’t help it, seeing Raylan like this, it breaks something inside of Tim and his hand gently curves over Raylan’s bruised and bitten right hip. A gesture of comfort.

He looks up, Raylan’s eyes are huge and dark in his beautiful face, hope is etched so deeply in there that Tim plays a hunch, gently wraps his other arm around Raylan.

For a second there’s a stiffness, then Raylan’s body literally flows into Tim’s like it’s an involuntary action. And Tim knows he will do whatever Raylan asks to protect his partner, and it hurts like hell what Raylan’s going through that Tim can’t take it from him.

Raylan is far too shaky to walk unaided, and Tim’s had a quick search, there is nothing to indicate what he’s been injected with, he’s been deprived of food, and water; so Tim’s first job is to get Raylan home, to Tim’s home, get him into bed (how bad is it that he cannot even summon a smirk at that thought), get him medical attention, food and lots of water.

It’s both better and worse in Tim’s truck. Better because they are out of that place, worse because Tim lays the passenger seat down flat and helps Raylan into it, Raylan curls towards Tim. It’s a lot worse because Tim can see the struggle in Raylan’s eyes as his hand slowly reaches out, curves around the center console and comes to rest clumsily on Tim’s leg. Worse now because the way Tim handles this will determine whether the door he can see cracked open and the hope he sees in Raylan’s eyes will remain open or be forever slammed closed.

Tim drives, Raylan’s asleep again, or he’s just drifting because he’s still out of it, Tim pulls himself together and starts with a call to the VA.


	2. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim is figuring it out, Raylan is mostly out of it, and there are some little clues along the way...

Dr Steven Porter helped Tim when he first arrived home from his first tour. Tim got right back on the horse after that and headed back out. Came back from his second tour with three more serious injuries, to which Dr Porter raised an eyebrow and remarked something about some people never learning from the first time.

The snark suited Tim perfectly. He was tired of people assuming he was ready to break apart, and treating him like he was bone china. Yes, shit sucked, and he had nightmares. The people who creeped Tim out were the ones who didn’t have nightmares, did a couple of tours, bailed and then went back out there as civilian contractors. Some of them were definitely on the psychopathic scale of one to nuts.

He figured that Porter would keep it light and professional with Raylan, and the cowboy would be okay with that.

Raylan let the doctor handle him. It was kinda eerie though, like Raylan was on his best behaviour, he was subdued, but he let Porter examine him. That seemed strange to Tim. 

What seemed even stranger was when it was all over, and Porter was writing out prescriptions, he looked up at Tim and said “are you going to let him talk to you?” Like Tim was somehow suddenly the expert on insane, hillbilly criminals who had a burning deep desire to brutalise and humiliate their former childhood friends. 

Boyd Crowder. Tim had never been all that keen on the guy, his dislike based on more than the fact that Crowder was a criminal. He’d watched the way Crowder had manipulated Raylan and hated the man more for that than any of his criminal activities. Tim knew Raylan would deny it to his dying breath, but Crowder’s presumption on Raylan’s childhood friendship was damn thin and could destroy Raylan.

The sad part, Tim could get it. He could see why Raylan felt he had more in common with Crowder than Art Mullen. Over time Mullen’s cracks and quips at Raylan’s expense had had the overall effect of pushing the cowboy away. Not that it was all Art’s fault. Raylan had his part to play in that mess too.

Tim just didn’t know how to fix it.

Undressing Raylan to get him into sleep pants and into bed so that the doctor could examine him, Tim had brushed up against a bite.

Vicious, the teeth of the biter had broken the skin. Tim saw the placement of the bite, and realised that was exactly where Raylan’s badge and gun would sit.

Was it a possessive thing, or did Crowder just want to cause pain, a reminder that he could hurt Raylan any time he chose?

Tim’s hand curved then, fingers spread, as though he could protect the bruise and there was a look in Raylan’s eyes underneath the stiffness. Something in that soft dark gaze said that Raylan knew, and was trying to reach out.

Very carefully Tim moved forward a little, an invitation for Raylan if he wanted to accept it. Dark eyes watched him warily. Tim stayed still, then he had arms full of Raylan.

The cowboy leaned in, he didn’t break down as such, but Tim could feel the slight trembling of Raylan’s body. Tim’s arms wrapped themselves loosely around Raylan offering comfort.

***justified***

Steven Porter scribbled down a prescription on his pad, and handed it to Tim.

Forty-four year old male, drugged, abused and raped over a period of days. Put like that it sounded cold and clinical, it was only when you added in that this was a friend and colleague of Sergeant Timothy Gutterson, former Army Ranger and current Deputy US Marshal, who had seen far too much for his relative youth, and that Tim, who Porter had always observed to be too tightly wound and guarded his sexuality with a ferocity of a lioness guarding cubs, was somehow both emotionally involved in this, and determined to hide exactly how much he felt.

Whether that was from Porter, Raylan Givens or himself, Porter wasn’t sure. He also wasn’t sure that Tim’s ability to block was only so transparent because Porter had come to know Tim so well over the years, or Tim’s control was actually slipping.

“I would have preferred to take him in for observation, but that would make it official, and since he is adamant that he has no intention of attracting that kind of scrutiny, you need to watch him and call me if anything changes in the slightest.” Porter let Tim take the script from his hand, “You will need to change the bag in about two hours,” Raylan had refused hospital, but accepted the iv to get him rehydrated “let him have the whole second bag as we need to get as much fluid back into his body as possible, keep him warm, keep him quiet and let him sleep it off, when he wakes up food little and often.”

“Fried chicken, biscuits and gravy.” Tim’s tone was a dry, “and he likes ice cream.”

Porter nodded. “None of that will do him any harm.” He chuckled at Tim’s raised eyebrow, “okay, long term maybe, but right now you are going to have to tempt him with what you think he will eat. I will be back this evening to check on him.” Porter snapped his bag closed. “And Tim,” he waited until he had the sniper’s full attention, “you know that he should report this.”

“I know.” For a moment Tim Gutterson’s usual poker face slipped, and Porter wondered again if he realised the obvious depth of his feelings for his fellow marshal.

Or it could be Tim’s natural empathy for those less fortunate.

That was one of the things that really drew Porter to Tim Gutterson. The younger man’s capacity to care deeply for those who life had kicked in the teeth.

***justified***

After Tim let the doctor out, he phoned in sick; making sure to speak to Art’s secretary, Nola. Feeling strangely reluctant to say that he had found Raylan, Tim left that particular can of worms unopened.

Raylan had flipped back onto his front, his left arm, with its iv, stretched across the bed, his right arm folded beneath the pillow he was burrowed into. The sheet covered his hips, but his bare back and upper body were in view and Tim winced at the bruises, bites and contusions all over Raylan’s back, each one cleaned up by the doc and salve applied where the skin had broken. His scraped, abused and bruised wrists were covered in salve and dressed with open weave bandages. He looked miserable huddled there, Tim was fairly certain, feigning sleep. Tim checked the iv bag, which was dangling from the hook he had hastily fixed to the wall above the bed, it would be a way to go before it needed swopping out, but Tim slipped into the old armchair next to the bed and picked up his book planning on staying anyway.

For a while all was quiet. Raylan wasn’t much of a talker at the best of times, but he seemed wary now he was more alert, and Tim couldn’t blame him.

The sniper eased a little further down in his chair and concentrated on his book.

“Read to me.”

At first Tim thought he was hearing things, but a quick glance at the bed told him otherwise. The dark eyes were watching him, something in their depths that Tim found hard to quantify, so Tim started to read.

It was a collection of Native American Animal Tales, and at first Tim expected derision, but Raylan seemed to be listening, and Tim could have sworn the older Marshal was actually enjoying it.

The drip bag was empty, and Tim swopped it out, but kept right on reading. Raylan lay quiet, his left arm with the iv stretched out, head still buried in the pillow and the crook of his right elbow, he made no sign, but Tim knew he was caught up in the stories.

If it helped the man forget for a while, Tim was all for it, so he kept reading.

***justified***

“For the record, I think this is a really bad idea.” Tim crosses his arms and glares at Raylan.

The cowboy is still shaky, he’s barely off the iv, and however much he wants back in the office, Tim just has this really bad feeling.

“I just need to get back.” _Before Art has a fit_. Raylan doesn’t say it, but there something in his eyes and the expression, haunted, hurting but resolute bites hard.

Tim just wishes that he knew better. Knew that Art wasn’t going to blame Raylan for this. Lately the Chief Deputy has been angry with Raylan, with probably good cause, but still. Tim wishes there was some way to impart to their boss what has happened to Raylan without betraying Raylan’s confidence.

Especially as what Raylan isn’t saying to Tim, is that he is really not ready for this. Tim’s reading between the lines and it’s all wrong, the part that makes him sad is that he realises that this is what Raylan does, buries his own feelings deep inside, presents a couldn’t give a shit façade to the world and carries on as normal. This is what Raylan has done his whole life. So maybe he’s a bit of an asshole, but he’s also a lot damaged, and the people who he’s supposed to be able to trust and rely on for help, maybe they don’t bother to look closer.

Tim feels as guilty as fuck, because he was one of them.

Tim can’t stop Raylan, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to tell Raylan this is a bad idea.


	3. Breakdown Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going back into the office is not the best idea that Raylan's ever had. When Art discovers something unpleasant it's a good thing that Tim is there to pull Raylan back on track.

Tim watches Raylan like a hawk. They arrive in the office. Raylan sheds his hat and jacket, and then Art calls him in.

Tim holds his breath. Whatever’s said, at least there is no shouting. Tim seriously doubts that Raylan could deal with shouting right now, his body language is tight and very tense. Tim watches Art. The older man doesn’t seem to have picked up on how overwound Raylan is. And he’s definitely unhappy with the cowboy.

Then Raylan is exiting the office, walking back to his desk, he tilts his head a little a presses a finger to the corner of his right eye, and suddenly Tim can read the tell. Raylan Givens is broken and hurting like hell, and he’s buried that all inside. Tim realises that he’s seen that head tilt before, the last time when Arlo finally died in prison.

For a second Tim doesn’t know whether to admire Raylan for his iron self-control, holding all that pain inside him, or despise all the people who put those barriers between Raylan and the world.

***justified***

Rachel watches Raylan walk back to his desk, sees the head tilt, that doesn’t say much to her, but Raylan’s deliberately rolled-down sleeves, and the way he ducks his head, as though he’s trying to hide something from them all speaks volumes. He’s stiff, his movements outwardly as confident as ever, but there is something that is impeding his natural swagger.

When he sits, and reaches for a file in his in-tray, she sees a glimpse of a bandage poking out the cuff of his sleeve, so he’s injured.

She glances at Tim, they came in together this morning, and if anyone knows anything it is probably Tim.

He’s staring at his partner over the partition, a look on his face that Rachel’s never seen before. Raylan reaches out for another file, this one’s heavier than the last, and Raylan clearly winces as he picks it up. Tim’s mask drops, flat out worry crosses his sharp features, before Tim can wipe the look from his face.

Raylan is hurt and Tim is very worried. Rachel tries to process this fact, but a sighting of one of their more dangerous fugitives comes in and it’s all hands on deck. They’re all called into the conference room.

***justified***

The take down is smooth, and Art is pleased. Even with his problem child, Raylan. The boys are in the locker room, putting their things away, and Art walks in. Raylan has his back to Art, his vest is half undone, and he’s going to peel it off. Art pats Raylan on the shoulder. Like he used to, before dealing with Raylan’s fallout started taking years off his life. Like he’s done hundreds of times before.

Raylan flinches, and spins away from Art so hard that he crashes into his opened locker door. Naked pain and panic cross his features, leaving Art in no doubt that that really hurt, but he bites back the howl and buries his reaction.

Too late.

“Son?” Art maybe pissed at Raylan, but the younger man has never reacted like that before, and despite his fierce attempt to cover, Art can still see panic sparking in his eyes.

Raylan’s sleeves have ridden up a little, and Art can see bandages poking out. There’s a hard, closed-off, defiant look on Raylan’s face, but the steely glare that Raylan has perfected over the years is missing.

Art figures the little collision with the locker door hurt too much and is preventing Raylan masking like he always does.

This can go one of two ways.

Either Art is going to be pissed with Raylan for lying to him by omission, yet again.

Or he’s going to fight down his instinctive fury that Raylan’s been off the reservation on one of his one-man deals, and get to the bottom of Raylan’s unusual and frankly frightening reaction to something that was never a problem before.

Since the pissed thing is probably what brought them here in the first place, Art figures he’ll try out the second option.

Raylan’s hands are still in a blocking pattern, slightly raised, in front of his body. Art can see the edges of bandages around both wrists, poking out of the sleeves of Raylan’s dark green check button down. Very gently, Art reaches out and takes Raylan’s right hand, his eyes holding Raylan’s. There’s a flash of something that looks rather like fear, before the shutters slam into place.

Art unbuttons the cuff of Raylan’s shirt and pushes the sleeve up a little. The bandaged wrist is exposed.

Moving slowly and carefully, Art removes the bandage. Raylan’s wrist is a mess. Art gets a good look at the damage, the bruising, the swelling, the stitches underneath, it must have been painful as hell to hold a weapon, Art doesn’t want to think how much it would have hurt if Raylan had had to fire. Art has absolutely no doubt that Raylan would have fired if he had had to.

Raylan has recovered his usual composure. He’s going to brazen it out.

Art can see the edge of the bandage around Raylan’s left wrist, knows it’s as bad as his right. Knows that marks and bruising like that would only occur if Raylan was restrained and struggled to get free.

Raylan is clearly planning on toughing it out, so Art needs to push the issue.

“Lift your shirt.” He’s firm but gentle with Raylan. It’s going against his usual handling instincts when it comes to Raylan Givens, but given what he’s seen already, Art is playing a hunch.

That hard, defiant look is back. Raylan makes no move to comply.

“Raylan, I need to see, so lift your shirt.” Art makes it an order, but makes no move into Raylan’s space. He’s still trying to process why Raylan should be physically afraid of his touch.

In a daze Raylan tugs at his buttons, it’s not like he’s not been through a million different things like this before. He complies, kinda, toughs it out, he can go back to his default position. Problem solved.

It doesn’t explain why there’s a sinking feeling of panic in his stomach, and all he really wants to do is run as far and as fast as he can.

He pulls his shirt and his undershirt off.

It’s the bite that Art sees first. There’s a deep, vicious bite on Raylan’s right pectoral, just above the nipple. The bite was deep enough and hard enough to draw blood, and the bite is human.

There are more bites and scrapes, and bruises all down Raylan’s torso. Art can see bruises in the shape of hand-prints on Raylan’s hips. Raylan’s holster and badge are on the waistband of his jeans, and Art can see the bruising is particularly deep there.

Getting Raylan to turn around so that Art can see his back is the hardest thing that Art’s ever done. The restraints and Raylan’s torn wrists, with the bruises and bite marks add up to something that Art is praying isn’t true.

The marks, the hand-print bruises which disappear beneath the waistband of Raylan’s jeans suggest that he’s been pinned and held, forced. There’s a mark up high on Raylan’s shoulder, the bruising very dark and deep, Art can see that his hand must have landed there, there would have been a jolt of pain, which could account for the flinch, but clearly the touch was a trigger.

Art Mullen knows he isn’t the most sensitive man that ever lived, Raylan’s eyes have gone cold and dark and empty, Art knows what the law is, but getting Raylan to go down that route is going to be very difficult at best, impossible at worst. If he tries to make it a legal issue, Art is certain that is going to hurt Raylan more than he has already been hurt.  
“Ray?” Tim steps in then, his hand goes to Raylan’s forearm, his voice warns Raylan that he’s going to touch, and Art can only watch as his youngest deputy handles Raylan better than Art has in months.

***justified***

There is a part of Raylan that is just burning, humiliation, stress and real physical pain are overwhelming all his defences one by one. He doesn’t want Art to know, he sure as hell doesn’t want Art to figure out exactly what happened, though he kinda figures that’s a stable-door-horse-bolted thing now.

It’s Tim’s hand on his arm that grounds him. Tim’s touch doesn’t feel alien or repulsive, it feels warm and welcoming. A safe harbour. It feels strange to think of Tim as a harbour, the man has got as many issues as Raylan has, but perhaps that’s it. Tim gets him. There’s no pressure to be something Raylan really doesn’t understand.

Winona called him angry. Perhaps Tim’s touch doesn’t make him feel angry, no… the opposite in fact. Tim’s touch makes him feel calm, and safe. The calm safe feeling pours over the burn, dulls it, and the ache it leaves behind.

They’re out of the building and walking towards Tim’s Yukon before Raylan becomes aware of his surroundings again. This should have pissed him off, but he shoots a look at Tim, and the asshole grins.

There is a devil in Tim’s grin which Raylan’s soul recognises and revels in. Deep down he just loves how good Tim is in the field. How Tim will follow Raylan’s lead, how Tim is Dick Deadeye with any gun. From time to time, Raylan’s re-lived that moment, himself on the ground, wounded, Doyle Bennett standing over him, about to end Raylan’s life, nowhere to go, staring death down the barrel of Doyle’s service weapon, even the tiny hysterical thought that Doyle is going to have a hard time explaining how a bullet from his service weapon ended the life of a United States Marshal, when out of nowhere, Tim’s bullet ends Doyle.

How Raylan knows that it was Tim that ended Doyle. The precision.

There’s a joy in that precision. Not because Raylan particularly hates Doyle, he didn’t, it’s just that whole Harlan thing. The thing that Raylan resents and despises, it’s not hatred exactly, it’s anger that this bullshit has been going on for decades, and how everyone who lives in that fucked up place either is in this bullshit or hides behind it. The hillbilly bs that drags his birthplace down.

No, the joy comes from the knowledge of just how good Tim is behind a rifle. Raylan’s not bad, he’s a faster draw than Tim, but he’s not as good in the groupings as Tim has proved over and over again… Raylan just revels in having all that power at the end of the day. And if watching Tim taking shot after perfect shot makes him a little hard, well Tim chasing Raylan around apparently makes him a little hard too…

So he gives Tim a little attitude as he gets in the truck even though this is some kind of pigtail-pulling, playground-bs, Tim calls him an eighth grader, and Raylan buries his earlier discomfort in this back and forth as he falls into a rhythm he can understand.


	4. Cut and Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim takes Raylan home as things start to unravel.

Rachel knew that something happened to Raylan while he was out of the office. They’d come back from the successful raid, and apparently something had gone down with Art and Raylan in the men’s locker room. Tim had taken Raylan home. Even though they had two hours left on shift.

Rachel wanted to go find them, but she was a conscientious worker and with two people out, reports needed to be filed.

Which was why she was there when Boyd Crowder strolled in.

She couldn’t say why, but when Boyd expected to find Raylan there in the office, Rachel Brooks was very happy to disappoint him.

***justified***

Boyd Crowder had fully expected Raylan to be in the office, he couldn’t say with any degree of certainty that he was disappointed to find that Raylan had escaped, but he had enjoyed their encounters, and Raylan’s helpless struggles, and fully intended to have them again.

Having Raylan bound, at his mercy, helpless and naked and drugged into compliance, Boyd enjoyed that a lot more than Raylan’s Marshal antics.

So not finding Raylan at the office had put a big spoke in Boyd’s plans. Plans that made Raylan Givens Boyd Crowder’s bound bitch. It seemed only right, after all Ava had been taken away from him.

***justified***

Art Mullen had been a Marshal a long time, he knew by the slightly unsteady prowl and the hard look in Boyd Crowder’s intense dark eyes that he had been the one who had hurt Raylan. The Harlan kingpin was clearly de-stabilising. Despite Crowder’s attempts to tell him that Crowder had information for Raylan, Art could smell bull a mile off.

Crowder intended to hurt Raylan again. He almost said as much. Crowder smiled, a rush of perfect white teeth and Art knew exactly who had put that bite to Raylan’s shoulder. The one that sparked the meltdown.

He said nothing about it, proof would be difficult, and short of actually taking an impression of the bite, which he doubted Raylan would let him do and matching it to a cast of Crowder’s teeth, they were at an impasse.

***justified***

Raylan dumped his clothes and dropped face down onto the bed, he had been monosyllabic on the way home, and Tim was genuinely worried as the older man burrowed into the pillow and huffed a little.

The fluidity that had started to come back to Raylan’s spine, the confident swagger, was all gone. Raylan’s back was tense, and Tim could see that he was shivering a little.

The call coming in from Art was just about the last straw. Crowder had been in the office, he was obviously after Raylan…

Tim thanked Art and rang off.

***justified***

Tim Gutterson was not paranoid. He just believed in good planning. Good planning prevented piss-poor performance. This one, Tim had absolutely no intention of losing.

He was armed, well-stocked with rations, though he doubted Raylan would think much of MREs, and they could stay in Tim’s quietly non-descript apartment for years. If necessary.

Should Crowder come a-calling, which Tim doubted since he was absolutely certain that Crowder did not know where he lived, the previous owner of Tim’s tiny little apartment was an elderly lady who trusted no one. The wrought iron security gate over the front door would at least give Tim and Raylan the chance to get out of the fire escape.

The alternative was to coax Raylan out of bed, into Tim’s old green truck (restoration project) which did at least run, and was legal, and go and hole up in the middle of the Daniel Boone National Forest in a tent until Art called to say they’d caught Boyd Crowder.

The bastard was probably just about unstable enough right now to make a mistake, although Tim really wanted to be there and take him down when he did, keeping Raylan safe from Crowder was a pleasure too. Maybe not such a twisted and visceral one, more warm and fluffy, but a pleasure all the same.

He tried not to think warm and fluffy thoughts. They would do him no good at all.

Raylan clearly felt like shit, Tim imposing his own agenda was not helping.

***justified***

Tim was smart, he had locked up his booze, leaving Raylan with a six pack of coke in the fridge, or the ignominious possibility of a bar tab, assuming of course that Raylan could sneak out past his watchdog.

His watchdog. A thought that filled Raylan with equal amounts of resentment and love.

He was pissed that Tim was watching him like a hawk, as though Raylan was incapable of looking after himself, and overwhelmed with feelings that he was trying very hard to ignore.

It had taken a very long time for Raylan to accept to himself that his sexuality was something of a fluid arrangement. Tim dragging him free of Boyd’s clutches had awakened something in Raylan that he really didn’t want to admit to. That the three years they had worked side by side, Raylan had used Tim’s attraction to Raylan for his own ends but that attraction had not been a one-way street.

What little Raylan knew of Tim outside the office jibed with what Raylan knew of the man inside the office. A dead shot, brave, loyal, smart and funny, the kind of guy anyone would be proud to call friend.

That it was Tim who cared enough to come looking for him and save him, well that turned a tide in Raylan’s mind.

That, and everything else that had gone down in the last six months or so, had made Raylan take a long hard look at his life.

Now he needed a drink.

***justified***

Rachel finished off the last of her reports, hit print, signed on the line with a flourish and went to drop them into Art’s in-tray. She said goodnight to Art, avoided his knowing look when she denied she was going in search of Tim and Raylan, and headed out.

Rachel was hardly a rookie, so she spotted the tail almost immediately, and lost it with a surge of satisfaction that would normally be unseemly. She cared about Tim, Raylan, she was really not so sure about, but he made life interesting if chaotic and he was a colleague so it mattered what happened to him.

Thing was, she knew that Tim liked Raylan a lot. It mattered to the young sniper what happened to Raylan. Rachel just wasn’t actually sure if Raylan gave much of a damn the other way.

She drove a few loops, making sure that there was no tail. She was having a hard time believing that this was really happening. Crowder was crazy, but until now she hadn’t believed that the man was this crazy. Apparently he was.

She parked her vehicle two roads over from Tim’s apartment complex and set out on foot the rest of the way.

***justified***

Raylan had declined food, wanted alcohol, and since he was still on meds, which Tim handed to him with a glass of water to wash them down, Tim declined the alcohol.

Raylan huffed irritably, and burrowed down into the bed.

Tim ignored the bad manners and general asshole-ness, and left his grumpy houseguest to it.

He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised by the nightmare, Raylan had been through a lot. The cowboy may have come off unaffected by the shit he did and the shit that happened to him, having seen the little tell at the office now Tim had cause to know better.

Tim stuck a movie on, in the hopes that Raylan would get the bug out of his ass and at least come out of the room. Hanging on to this shit wasn’t healthy, but Tim reckoned Raylan had been repressing since before Tim was born.

It was almost annoying how attuned he was to Raylan that had him starting out of his comfy couch at the first distressed whimper.

The cowboy had thrashed over onto his back, the sheets tangled around his legs pinning him. He was moaning and struggling, Tim moved to put a hand on Raylan’s shoulder to calm him, and the cowboy jumped nervously.

“Hey.” Tim sat on the edge of the bed. “’s’only me.” Surprised to find himself with arms full of distressed Raylan seconds later.

It felt good.


End file.
